


The Blood of Angry Men

by synchronysymphony



Series: Keep Me in the Light [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Tests, Eating Disorders, Hospitals, Love Confessions, M/M, cute kisses, don't worry I'm mad about the title too, kinda prominent so pls be careful, phone fic, pls don't read this if you have a fear of hospitals bc it is In a hospital u see, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7243939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Concept: Enjolras has to go to the hospital to get some bloodwork done. He doesn't like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blood of Angry Men

**Author's Note:**

> All of this is taken from my own experience, so it's very subjective! Also, please be careful in reading this, because it might be triggering. I think it's not too bad, but it's very health-related, so maybe skip it if you're worried.

There's something calming about the smell of disinfectants. Grantaire takes a moment to waft in the air that greets him as he steps through the main doors of the hospital, appreciating the familiar, sharp scent. He's going to visit Joly, aiming to distract him from the god-awful case he's been working, but he's got at least half an hour until Joly's on break, and he's in no hurry. 

He's ambling down the long stretch of gleaming-tile hallway that leads to the main lobby and thinking about stopping to buy a cup of coffee at the cafeteria, when a familiar haze of golden curls flashes on the edge of his periphery. Is that...? Before he can stop himself, he's already bounding over.

"Enjolras!"

Gold is replaced by blue as his addressee whips around and stares at him with wide, startled eyes. 

"Grantaire?"

"In the flesh. As they say." Grantaire goes to clasp Enjolras on the shoulder in greeting, but hesitates. The boy looks rather subdued, his face paler than usual, and his lips pursed in a flower-bud pout. Could it be that he doesn't want to see Grantaire, that he's upset to have run into him here? Grantaire wonders uneasily if he should make an excuse and leave, but before he can formulate something suitable, Enjolras touches his arm lightly, almost as if he's stroking it.

"I'm really glad to see you."

Oh. Well, then. Spirits well revived, Grantaire gives Enjolras his heartiest smile and ruffles his loose curls.

"I'm glad to see you too," he says. "I mean, I'm always glad to see you. But now, I'm really glad, because it was a surprise. But like, a good surprise."

Is he rambling? He thinks he might be. It's hard to think sometimes, when Enjolras smiles at him like he's doing now. Just to be on the safe side, he stops talking. Enjolras looks as if he wants to say something, but decides against it. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks instead.

"Visiting Joly. I smuggled him in some sour gummies, see?" Grantaire pulls the bag out of his coat pocket in the manner of a cop-show drug dealer. "It's the good stuff."

Enjolras laughs slightly. It's not his usual bell-like giggle, but at least he looks a little happier. "You're a good friend," he says.

Grantaire doesn't quite know what to make of that, so he just smiles and shrugs and picks up walking again. Enjolras falls into step beside him.

"How long are you going to be here?"

"For a little while. Joly doesn't get off until 4, you know. What about you?"

Enjolras chews his lip and looks down. "I just got here."

That doesn't really answer the question, and he looks perturbed again, so Grantaire slows down and looks at him carefully.

"You okay?"

"Fine.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I think. No, I don’t think. Yes.”

What.

Grantaire puts his hand on Enjolras’s bony little shoulder. “I don’t want to be nosy or anything, but you know I am pretty nosy, so. What’s going on?”

“It, it,” stutters Enjolras. Then, collecting himself a little more, “I have to go. Combeferre is waiting for me." With this, he quickens his step again, obviously intending to leave Grantaire behind.

This is weird, even for Enjolras, so Grantaire lengthens his stride to catch up. There's no way Enjolras can outrun him for long, not with those short little toothpick legs of his. Sure enough, they converge at the next corner.

"You're not meeting Combeferre, are you."

Enjolras looks at him, mouth slightly agape. "No, but... How did you know?"

Grantaire can't help but laugh a little. Enjolras's ability to be surprised about the most obvious things is in equal parts sweet and bewildering. 

"For one thing, you're usually in class at this time," he says. "You wouldn't ditch just to visit your friend, would you?"

Enjolras pouts at him. "I might! You guys are the ones who graduated and left me all by myself. Maybe I got lonely!"

"Lonely enough to skip constitutional law?"

"You never know. I mean, our professor's favorite Supreme Court justice is Scalia. That ought to tell you something."

Grantaire has to chuckle again. There's something warm in his chest, not like the burn of alcohol, but soft, and fond. "I know Combeferre's not working today," he says. "So c'mon, Enjolras, spill."

"Fine." Enjolras grimaces, like he's preparing himself for a very arduous task, and says in a painfully precise tone, "I am getting some blood work done."

"Really? Is it for _that_ , or...?"

Enjolras has a whole host of health problems, both mental and physical, but there's only one that Grantaire is referring to, the one that's most oppressively threatening his angel's precious life. Grantaire is never sure how explicit he should be in referring to it. Some of the literature says that talking about it will reinforce it; some of it says the opposite. It's all so confusing. And the last thing he wants is to hurt Enjolras in any way, so he always tries to err on the side of discretion. Enjolras, though, has no such qualms.

"Yeah," he says dispassionately. "It's the anorexia."

And, there it is. Grantaire doesn't know what to say, quite, because nothing seems to fit, and all he really wants to do is give Enjolras a big hug, but that's definitely not appropriate, so he just nods and smiles, as if this is a perfectly acceptable response. 

"It'll be over quickly," he says, aiming for an encouraging tone. "And really, how bad can it be anyway?"

Enjolras turns a shade paler, as if he's imagining _exactly_ how bad it could be. "I have to admit something," he mumbles. 

Grantaire takes the opportunity to step closer, bracketing Enjolras's small body with his own. "What is it?"

Enjolras looks around quickly, eyes darting back and forth as if scanning for any possible eavesdroppers. He's so nervous. Grantaire wants to tell him to calm down, only he knows from experience that this is neurotypical-coded, sort of like someone telling him to _just cheer up and smile!_ and it's not helpful in the least. 

"It's okay," he says instead.

"No, it's... Okay." Enjolras takes a deep breath and leans in close. "Don't tell the others, but the truth is, I'm scared of hospitals."

"What?" This is so not what Grantaire was expecting. "You're scared of hospitals? But your best friend's a doctor!"

"And he can never know!" Enjolras points at Grantaire, a fierce scowl replacing the timidity of a second ago. "Don't you dare tell anyone, okay?"

Grantaire flaps a hand at him, placating. "Okay, okay. I wasn't going to, anyway. But you know, you're not really in the hospital, are you? You're just getting blood work done. Then you'll be free."

"No, I know." Enjolras grits his teeth, frustrated. "But see, I'm afraid of blood, too. And needles."

"Oh. Well, then. I could see how that would be an issue." 

"Just a bit."

Grantaire scratches his chin absently. He knows what he wants to say, but he's not sure if he should say it. What if it just makes Enjolras more uncomfortable? Maybe he should just take his leave now, to avoid further embarrassment for them both. But Enjolras is blushing, looking fretful, even more fragile than usual, and Grantaire can't in good conscience leave without making his offer.

"Then, do you want me to go with you?"

"Really?"

There's a note of hope in Enjolras's voice. Grantaire thinks he made the right decision after all. He bumps Enjolras with the back of his wrist.

"Yeah. It'll be cool, I finally get to see what a blood doctor does."

"You know they're called phlebotomists," says Enjolras, probably for form's sake, but he's smiling a little bit. 

Grantaire blows a raspberry. "Potato, po _ta_ to. I like blood doctor better."

"It does sound cool," Enjolras offers, almost shyly. "Like they've been destined to be doctors since the dawn of time. Like, they have it in their blood."

Grantaire sometimes forgets how adorable and funny Enjolras can be when he's not trying to hold back from being himself. On a probably poorly-thought out impulse, he squeezes Enjolras's hand in his own, just briefly. It's nothing he wouldn't do for anyone else, but his heart lurches at the contact anyway.

"Well, come on," he says. "Why don't we go get this over with? Your predestined doctor awaits."

He goes to pull his hand away, but Enjolras hangs on. Some of Grantaire's surprise must show in his face, because Enjolras looks up at him in sudden consternation.

"Do you mind if I...?"

Does he _mind_? Grantaire wants to laugh. He doesn't, though, just gives Enjolras another reassuring squeeze.

"Of course not. Come on, you'll miss your appointment."

They set off down the hallway hand-in-hand. Grantaire has no idea where they're going, since he's only ever been to the hospital to visit Joly (his cocktail of mental health issues and incipient alcoholism aside, he's always been disturbingly healthy), but Enjolras seems to know, and he tows Grantaire along with great purpose now that he's made up his mind to go through with this. It's one of the things Grantaire loves about him– he has an almost single-minded determination to face his challenges head-on, no matter how scared he might be. He doesn't say anything, and Grantaire doesn't either, but the combined pressure of their joined hands says more than enough.

They reach the phlebotomist's office only a few minutes later. Despite his short legs, Enjolras tends to power walk everywhere he goes, and although Grantaire is used to a more leisurely pace, he can move if he wants to. Now that they're here, though, Enjolras seems to be questioning his own speediness.

"Everyone's glaring at me," he mutters.

Grantaire looks around. It's true that most of the people in the room are staring, but most of them don't seem hostile (though the two teenagers under the TV are looking fairly jealous). 

"It's okay," he says. "They're just staring because you're pretty."

Enjolras still looks despondent. "It always happens, though. Everywhere I go. I can never go unnoticed."

Grantaire hasn't really considered it before since his own looks are on the direct opposite of the spectrum, but now he can see that beauty is its own type of curse. Poor Enjolras. With his angelic appearance, he can never enjoy the comfort of anonymity. No wonder he gets so anxious when their friends insist they hang out in crowded places. Privately, Grantaire resolves to stop suggesting they go bar-hopping all the time. 

"Fuck them," he says. "Come on. Why don't you go check in? I'll be right over here." He squeezes Enjolras's hand once more before letting go to go sit down in the most secluded corner of the waiting room. It's probably against patient confidentiality to listen to Enjolras describe the reason for his visit, or something like that. Joly has talked about HIPAA so many times that Grantaire thinks he could teach his own class on health information privacy. 

Enjolras comes over shortly and sits down beside him. He's holding a buzzer and an alarmingly thick stack of papers. "They said it would be about fifteen minutes to wait," he says. 

"Good, that's not too long!"

Grantaire has no real clue whether it's long or not, but he tries for an enthusiastic tone. Enjolras huffs at him in nervous amusement. He's bouncing his leg up and down, practically vibrating. Grantaire rests a hand on his knee.

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay. You're going to be just fine." 

"Am I?" Enjolras looks at him, pupils dilated in fear. "Last time I was here, I fainted and my parents beat the shit out of me for embarrassing them. Is that fine?"

"No," says Grantaire, because it seems like that's what needs to be said. Enjolras furrows his brow, though, so he continues. "But, this isn't last time. Because I'm here now, so if anything happens, I'll take care of you."

"Oh." Enjolras goes a little pink at this. He also stops bouncing his leg. "You, ah, you will?"

"Yeah." Grantaire nudges Enjolras gently with his shoulder. "Promise."

Enjolras smiles at him. It's like sunlight on a summer afternoon. There's still a measure of fear in his eyes, but he at least seems to be controlling it better now, and Grantaire can be thankful for that.

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, not feeling any need to make conversation. It would be comfortable if there wasn't such an undercurrent of tenseness in Enjolras's very posture, permeating the whole atmosphere. Grantaire can't be totally relaxed when Enjolras is feeling so much the opposite. It's nice, though, just sitting together like this. They really need to do this more often.

In the end, they don't have to wait the whole fifteen minutes for the little buzzer to sound. One of the attendants comes out of the back room to call for Enjolras personally, as if even the hospital knows that he's someone who deserves all the best treatment possible. Enjolras gets up, but instead of following the attendant back, he looks nervously at Grantaire.

"I know this is probably really not what you want," he says. "But do you mind, would you..."

"I'll wait for you," says Grantaire. And he will. He'll sit in this chair as long as he has to, if it will give Enjolras some peace of mind.

"No, no." Enjolras scrubs his hand across a too-prominent cheekbone, flustered. "That's not what I– um, okay. Would you come with me?"

"Come with you?" Grantaire gapes at him in amazement. This is an intensely personal experience for him, one that's caused him to faint from fear before, and he's still willing to let Grantaire be privy to it? Enjolras is letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself be seen in an intimate and potentially unattractive light. He's opening himself up in a way that even Grantaire himself, with all his bluster, might not be able to do. To put it bluntly, Grantaire is floored.

He must be staring, because Enjolras blushes and looks away, his mouth an unhappy curve. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's okay, I'll go."

He turns to leave, and Grantaire, noting the disappointed slump of his shoulders and the resigned set  of his pace, sets aside his astonishment and springs to life. 

"I'm not uncomfortable," he says quickly, and probably too loudly, striding up to overtake Enjolras and lace their hands together. "I was just surprised. I would be happy to go in there with you."

Enjolras looks down at their joined hands, then up at Grantaire with a slight cross-eyed look as if he can't quite believe it. "Really?"

Grantaire tugs him forward. "Really, really. Come on."

They follow the blessedly patient attendant into the phlebotomist office proper. After a quick debriefing, the attendant assures them that the phlebotomist will be with them in just a second, and bows out. 

Now left to his own devices, Enjolras settles himself down on the paper-covered chair, looking ridiculously small and fragile. Two of him could probably fit in there, with room besides. Grantaire wants to sit down too, but the only other chair is across the room, and that feels much too far away. Enjolras seems to think the same. He points at it, then (adorably) at himself. 

"Will you bring it over and sit next to me?"

Grantaire is pretty sure his face is doing some strange things, because his heart definitely is, but he brings the chair over and plops down at Enjolras's side. 

"How are you holding up?"

It's a silly question, really. Enjolras is almost as white as the sterile paper he's sitting on. He's clearly much more scared than he was before, which makes sense, since of course being in the exam room would be much worse than just waiting in the lobby. But, Enjolras is Enjolras, and he's obviously determined to stick it through until the end.

"I'm okay," he says. It sounds like his teeth are clenched. "No need to worry."

Grantaire is impressed by this stoic display, but there’s a bitter little twinge in the pit of his chest. Once again, he feels bad for Enjolras, poor marble angel who's never been allowed the human luxury of weakness. He’s been pushed relentlessly by everyone (including himself) regardless of time and place, and he's never been allowed to crumble.

Maybe, Grantaire thinks, looking at the stern set of Enjolras's jaw (probably stuck tight to keep his teeth from chattering), this is exactly why he'd extended his invitation in the first place. Knowing someone else is with him, he might be less likely to give in to his fear, might be more motivated to keep up a strong front. The poor thing. He's got way too much to deal with as it is. Grantaire turns to him and gently takes both his hands in his own. 

"It's okay," he says. "This won't last forever. In an hour, you'll be worlds away from here."

Enjolras nods curtly, but the icy facade is undone when his lip trembles, and he lets out a little whimper. He really looks like he's on the verge of tears. 

"It's too much," he says, soft-voiced and watery. "I'm kind of... I'm scared."

Grantaire's chest aches. He wants to pick Enjolras up and cuddle him until he stops looking so horribly pained. Even better, he wants to take him away from the surgical rigidity of the hospital, back into the world of sunlight where he can be kept safe and warm, but this isn't thoughtful. Enjolras needs to have his procedure done; Grantaire would never want to keep him from anything that could help him regain his health. 

"It's okay," he says. "I'm here."

Enjolras doesn't reply. He grips onto Grantaire's hand as if it's the only point tying him to this world. In fact, maybe it is. Enjolras has mentioned his frequent dissociation before; it could be that he's really trying his best to stay grounded. If that's the case, Grantaire wants to do everything he can to keep him here.

"How about this," he says. "If you can get through this, I'll draw a real picture of you."

Enjolras struggles to put his head up and look Grantaire in the face (though he can't seem to make eye contact). "But you don't make real drawings of anybody."

It's true. Grantaire never draws portraits unless they're cartoons or caricatures. But he thinks just once, he can break his rule. Enjolras deserves it.

He squeezes Enjolras's hands lightly and gives him a light, teasing smile. "You're special. So you better appreciate it."

"I do."

Enjolras might be about to go on, but the phlebotomist chooses this moment to open the door and stride into the office. She's tall, much taller than Enjolras, and about ten times more bulky. There are floral tattoos covering her forearms and peeking out from under her collar, like she's growing a garden on her body. 

"Hi, you must be Enjolras," she says. Her voice is brisk and efficient. "My name's Floréal. I'll be doing your tests today."

Enjolras squeaks at her. He limply tries to lift his hand, and after a second, Floréal seems to realize that he's attempting to shake. She gives him a kind smile and reciprocates. 

"Do you have your paperwork?" she asks. "I know it's minutiae, but I need to make sure you're signed off for this."

"Yh." Enjolras holds the sheaf of papers out to her, arms stiff and elbows locked. Floréal looks it over cursorily, then nods. 

"We're good to go. Are you ready?"

"Yh."

Floréal looks amused. "Okay. I'll make it quick. Hold out your arm, please."

Enjolras doesn't seem to know what to do. He shifts in his chair and crinkles the paper he's sitting on, but his arms remain steadfastly in his lap. Then, he looks down at them and blinks in confusion, as if he's surprised that they're not following his instructions. Floréal seems quite patient, but Grantaire doesn’t want him to be stuck here because he’s paralyzed by fear, so he does the only thing he can to help, and opens his mouth.

"Hey, sunshine. Have you ever punched someone?"

Enjolras turns to him in surprise. "I... What?"

"You ever punched someone? Just straight up walloped 'em, given 'em a good ole whiskey-glass kiss with a fist?"

"W-well, I," stutters Enjolras. "I suppose I have. Um, a couple times, actually."

“Yeah?” Grantaire believes it. Enjolras seems like the kind of person who might often find himself on the wrong side of violence. "That's good."

"What do you mean it's good?" Enjolras sounds almost outraged. "I broke someone's nose!"

"Yeah, but now you have a story to tell." Grantaire nudges Enjolras's arm up. "Here, show me that straight-arm technique."

"It's hardly the same," protests Enjolras, but he lifts his arm and lets Floréal swab at the inside of his elbow. He winces as soon as the alcohol pad touches his skin, and Grantaire knows his job isn’t done yet.

"So what was it, someone said something problematic?"

"Oh." Enjolras makes a face. On anyone else, it would probably look weird, but on him, it's just cute. "No, actually it was worse. They tried to take me home with them."

"The hell?"

"I didn't want them to," Enjolras hastens to clarify, misinterpreting Grantaire's shock.

"No, no. I get that. I just... Wow." Grantaire doesn't quite know what to say. He's never had to deal with this kind of thing on a personal level before. Whether it's because he's big and ugly and physically imposing, or because he's capable of being a complete asshole, he really doesn't know, but either way, people tend not to mess with him. He thinks he's pretty lucky, all things considered. Enjolras probably has to live in constant fear wherever he goes. That's it, Grantaire's made up his mind: he's going to do his best to protect Enjolras whenever they go out in public. It'll be the least he can do.

Come to think of it, he should probably start now. It's not that he thinks Floréal will attack Enjolras– that would be ridiculous– but the needle she's holding definitely poses a threat. Enjolras can't seem to take his eyes away from it. He looks pale, too. Grantaire wonders uneasily if he's about to faint. 

"You okay?" he asks.

"O-okay."

That's an unconvincing answer if Grantaire's ever heard one. "Hey," he says. "Give me your hand."

Enjolras looks down at his hand as if only just now remembering where it is. With a concentrated effort, he lifts it up and sticks it out in Grantaire's direction. Grantaire takes it between his own and turns it over. The skin on Enjolras's wrist is so pale as to be almost translucent, shot through with lightning-blue veins and a dishearteningly large number of scars. 

"Okay," he says. "Let's play a game."

"Game?"

Enjolras looks confused, but Floréal nods appreciatively at Grantaire, as if she knows exactly what he's planning to do. She preps her materials, hooking the needle up to the tube and attaching the hollow wire that will transfer the blood. Grantaire watches her as she works to gauge how quickly he should talk.

"This is called Pinch-Hitter," he says, as Floréal fetches a couple of differently-colored test tubes and lays them out on the tray. "It's very simple. We can play it right here."

"Well, okay. How do we play?" 

By now, everything's ready, but Enjolras hasn't seemed to notice that Floréal is lining the needle up against his elbow, and Grantaire counts this as a success.

"It's easy," he says. "I pinch you as hard as I can, and see how long it takes until you hit me."

"Wha– "

Grantaire pinches him. It isn't a light pinch, either. He uses his nails and really digs in, using his considerable strength to cover up the sharp prick of the needle as Floréal pushes it through the skin. Enjolras yelps.

"What the hell, Grantaire!”

"Sorry." Now that Floréal has the needle where it's supposed to be, Grantaire figures he can let go. He rubs his thumb softly over the offended area, then lifts it to his lips and drops a kiss there for good measure. "All better?"

"Oh. Y-yh."

Enjolras is blushing now. It's way obvious. Grantaire doesn't quite know what this means, nor does he think he's brave enough to point it out, but he is pleased that Enjolras is distracted from thinking about the needle in his arm. Look at that, he managed to help out.

"So that's Pinch-Hitter," he says. "Trademark Grantaire. Tell all your friends." He's proud that his voice comes out steady (if a little gravelly). He's getting better at controlling his reactions when he and Enjolras share what might be thought of as Moments, he thinks; soon he's going to be able to maintain his famous poker face even in the most dire situations. 

Unfortunately, Floréal breaks the moment by adjusting the needle apparatus, and Enjolras jolts back to reality, suddenly remembering where he is. He looks at his other arm, sees the needle, the wire, and the blood slowly collecting in the first of three test tubes, and promptly turns a lovely shade of green.

"I don't feel right," he mumbles.

 _Oh no_. "Okay, look at me," Grantaire orders, trying to keep his own voice firm. "Don't look at your arm, look at me."

Enjolras doesn't move his eyes (though it doesn't seem to be for lack of trying). "I can't."

"Yes you can." Grantaire squeezes his hand, maybe a little harder than necessary. "Come on, I'm here. Look at me."

Much to his relief, Enjolras finally manages to obey, and frightened blue eyes meet his, wide and dilated in a pale little face. 

"You're here?"

"Yeah, I'm here." 

"Please don't leave."

"I won't. Promise, I'm not going anywhere."

Grantaire starts to trace circles over the inside of Enjolras's wrist, frowning at the bright red mark left over from Pinch-Hitter. He can't help but feel bad about that, even if it was for a good cause. Hurting Enjolras is awful. He's going to do his best to never do so again.

"Look at my eyes," he says. "You can see I'm serious, right? You're going to be okay. I mean this."

Enjolras makes a despondent little kitten sound. His mouth is clamped shut, but if it weren't, his teeth would probably be rattling. This is the most frightened Grantaire has ever seen him; not even finals have ever shaken him up this badly. 

"Not going to be okay," he grits out, probably trying to keep his voice steady, but failing.

"Yes you are. You're doing so good so far, and if you can stay strong for just a few more minutes, you'll be done." Grantaire connects their fingers together and puts his spare hand on top, big and rough and diametrically opposed to Enjolras's dainty one. "It's only a little bit longer. Can you be brave and hold out for just a few more minutes?"

Enjolras bites his lip so hard that the skin breaks. He doesn't seem to notice, so Grantaire wipes away the drop of blood before it can roll down his face. 

"Come on, it's okay."

Enjolras scrunches his forehead. He's evidently concentrating hard on something, though what it is, Grantaire has no idea. His eyes are half-shut, but even so, the pain and fear in them are obvious, and it seems like he’s straining to keep them open at all. 

"Talk to me," he says.

If there's one thing Grantaire is good at, it's talking. He can ramble on for hours on any subject he wants, serious and comedic in equal measure. His friends have always told him he'd be good as a politician, because he can run his mouth with the best of them. In fact, Enjolras himself has told him that he'd be wonderful at filibustering. This right here, this is one request that he can fulfill. 

"Let me tell you a story," he says. "This is a true story, by the way. It's about me last weekend when I went out with Bossuet and Joly to try that new bar."

Enjolras makes an attempt at an encouraging sound. Whether he's really listening or not, Grantaire isn't sure, but he tries to be as engaging as possible anyway. He's always been told that he tells a good story, so he's pretty confident on this front, but he doesn't know if even the best story in the world will be enough of a distraction to keep Enjolras from giving in to his fear in these last few minutes. 

He does his best, though, and it seems to help at least a little, because Enjolras manages to pay at least nominal attention. By the time Grantaire has gotten to the part about the drunk and strangely pugilistic insurance adjuster whom he'd met in the bar bathroom, the operation is over, and Floréal is getting ready to take out the needle.

"And that's part one," he finishes, as Floréal caps off the test tube. "I'll tell you the rest later."

"I'm going to take the needle out now," interjects Floréal. "It might hurt just a little bit."

Enjolras looks at Grantaire in fear. The expression in his eyes could melt the stoniest of hearts. 

"Pinch me again?"

"Okay." Grantaire doesn't want to, necessarily, but this seems to be the only thing he can do to help. "Here, hold my hand. It'll be okay, I'm right here. And, ready?"

Enjolras nods, so Grantaire pinches him as hard as he can, not letting up until Floréal has extracted the needle and covered the wound with a piece of gauze. When he finally eases off, Enjolras gives him a shaky smile.

"Thank you."

Somehow, these two words pierce Grantaire's heart more keenly than the sharpest surgical needle. It's not fair; anything Enjolras does has this effect on him. 

"Don't worry about it," he says. "It's what I'm here for, you know?" Instead of giving Enjolras the chance to parse out the meaning behind this, he turns (admittedly rather brusquely) to Floréal. "So, is there anything else we should do? Or is he done?"

Floréal smiles at them both, a lovely, expansive expression that lights her whole face. "No, that's it. Just take the statement of treatment to the front desk to have them sign off on it, and you'll be good to go. We'll probably have the results ready in eight to ten days, but we can mail those to you, so you don't have to worry about coming back in."

"Great, thanks so much."

Floréal smiles at them again. "Just doing my job." She picks up her stack of papers and the tubes of blood and starts towards the door. "I'm going to take these to the lab right now. Feel free to sit for a second and collect yourselves before you leave; I don't think anyone's using this room until I get back. And now, I'll be off. I hope you two have a lovely day!"

"You too," says Grantaire, and Enjolras flaps his hand weakly and makes a sort of concurrent humming sound. 

Floréal waves at them once more, friendly and cheerful, before heading out. She closes the door behind her, maybe mindful of the background noise of the hospital beyond the limits of the exam room. Grantaire can't help but be impressed. She's one of the most competent health professionals he's ever met (excluding Joly and Combeferre, of course). It's lucky that Enjolras got to work with her today.

Since Floréal herself said it was okay to sit for a little while, Grantaire makes no move to hurry Enjolras outside. Instead, he lets him stay where he is and sit quietly for a moment, holding onto his hands for a contact point, and drawing patterns onto his skin. 

"You doing okay?" he asks.

Enjolras shakes his head weakly. "Not really. I still feel super dizzy."

"That's okay." Grantaire reaches out and smoothes his hair behind his ears. He's not really sure why he does this, but for some reason, it feels right. "You did really good, you know that, right? You were so good and brave. So strong. You did wonderfully, getting through it all like that."

"But I didn't do my best." Enjolras frowns, disappointed. "I didn't even talk."

"You did everything you needed to."

"No, I didn't! She probably thinks I'm so stupid now. And I am! I can't even do a simple thing like this without messing it up. What's wrong with me?"

"Hey, woah." Without stopping to think too hard, Grantaire does what he's wanted to do from the beginning and stands and scoops Enjolras into his arms. "Come on, come here. It's okay."

Enjolras snuffles and presses close to him. He's shaking slightly, like he's caught a chill from the icy atmosphere of the hospital, or maybe from the cold fear in his heart. His voice, too, is trembly and small.

"Do you really think it was okay?"

"I really do. Promise. I know you're feeling pretty anxious right now, so it's easy to spiral, but really. You're okay."

Enjolras clings to him, still shaking, and still making those sad little noises. He's obviously really rattled, and if Grantaire had to guess, he's probably in the process of making everything ten times bigger than it is by turning it all over in his head. For a long time, Grantaire hadn't understood that this is how his anxiety works. He'd thought that Enjolras was just being dramatic, or blowing things out of proportion for no reason. But this couldn't be further from the truth– his thoughts are as intrusive and difficult to deal with as Grantaire's own. 

"It's okay to be scared," Grantaire tells him. "You can't help feeling this way, so it's not your fault. You know, though, the definition of courage is acting in spite of your fears, which you did, so there's no question about it that you were very brave just now."

"Was I really, though?"

"You were. I was here, I can tell you for sure. I'm so proud of you."

Enjolras starts shaking even harder. After a second, Grantaire realizes that he's crying. He's alarmed until he realizes that this is a good thing. Enjolras has so much pent-up emotion inside him and he's so on edge after this terrifying experience that these few kind words have tipped the balance and let it all come rushing out. This is cathartic crying, not sad crying. All they can do now is wait for the storm to pass, because Enjolras will definitely feel better after this. 

It might not be sad crying, but Enjolras is still feeling vulnerable, and Grantaire can't not comfort him when he's so down. With no particular effort, he inverts their positions, wedging himself into the patient chair and pulling Enjolras onto his lap. The poor boy is so light and skinny; Grantaire can feel his bones sticking out all over. It's heartbreaking, but the important thing is that he's doing the best he can to fight this seemingly-impossible battle, and that's all that anyone could ask of him. 

"It's okay," Grantaire croons, twining his fingers through Enjolras's soft curls and stroking his hair as gently as he can. "It's okay. Let it all out. That's right, that's good. Right, that's my good, brave boy. Let it go, you'll be okay."

He's not sure if Enjolras is paying attention or not, but he seems to find it comforting just to be talked to and held. This is definitely something Grantaire can do for him, so he keeps up the stream of reassurances, never wavering, and never changing the calming cadence of his voice. 

Finally, Enjolras stops crying, and puts his head up to rest against Grantaire's shoulder, almost-but-not-quite looking him in the eyes. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to do that."

There's a flush spreading across the pale porcelain of his cheeks, and Grantaire realizes that he's embarrassed about breaking down like this. He shouldn't be. It's totally natural, and it's not like Grantaire would judge him for it, even if he had any right to. 

"You don't have to apologize." Grantaire pinches him ever-so-lightly on the cheek, teasing and reassuring at once. "I don't think badly of you, not at all, so you don't have to worry about saying sorry or anything. Just focus on you."

"Are you sure you don't... You're okay?"

"Promise."

"Okay." Enjolras gives a little tiny smile. It's small and unconvincing, but it's incredibly sweet, and it makes Grantaire's heart flutter. 

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks. "This is probably enough hospital for one day, right?"

"But you were going to visit Joly." Enjolras frowns, not angry, but upset nonetheless. "I'm sorry, I kept you here too long. You should go visit! I'll head back by myself."

"You didn't keep me here. I wanted to stay." Grantaire tugs on the end of a curl, trying to get Enjolras to smile, but he steadfastly doesn't.

"I feel bad, though."

"Don't feel bad," says Grantaire immediately, and just as quickly regrets it when Enjolras pouts at him.

"Don't tell me how to feel."

"Okay, okay." Grantaire raises one hand in mock surrender. "But, you didn’t do anything wrong, and I was happy to be here with you this whole time."

Enjolras's face goes through some strange (but still wildly attractive) contortions. He blushes, bites his lip, and legitimately flutters his eyelashes, though Grantaire is fairly sure he doesn't know he's doing it. 

"Thank you," he says softly. It's clear he's responding to more than just Grantaire's last statement. For someone as lacking in subtlety as he is, he's still fairly good at speaking between the lines. 

Well, Grantaire can do that, too. He smiles down at Enjolras, warm and sweet as he can.

"It's my pleasure. Always."

"Oh." Enjolras looks up at him. There's something in his eyes, something that Grantaire doesn't want to try to name for fear he's presuming too much. He's trying not to hope in case it's unfounded, because that would be a disservice to Enjolras, but he can't help it, because those eyes... 

Nope. Not the business. This isn't what he needs to be doing right now. He gives Enjolras a quick squeeze, then lifts him up and sets him on the ground so they're standing face to face.

"Come on, let's get you out of here."

Enjolras makes a disappointed little sound. "But Grantaire..."

"You want to stay here?"

"No, I don't, but..." Enjolras looks from side to side, as if he'll find his words in the walls of the exam room. He's so unsure, and it should be funny because he's never unsure, but Grantaire isn't laughing. He doesn't want Enjolras to have to feel this way. Unfortunately, he's not sure how to help. He should say something, maybe, but he's not sure what, so he thinks it's probably best to let Enjolras speak his piece. 

It's not very forthcoming. Enjolras keeps looking around, eyes darting back and forth. He's probably building everything up in his head to a momentous degree. Grantaire has almost decided to step in so Enjolras doesn't start panicking, but finally, _finally_ he speaks. 

"I'm glad you were here with me for this."

That's it? That's why he's so nervous? It's such an innocuous comment. Grantaire smiles, and is about to reply, but Enjolras puts a finger on his lips.

"No, please don't say anything yet! I’m not done!”

Well, okay. Maybe a little less innocuous, then. Grantaire nods and gestures for Enjolras to continue. After a moment, he does.

"I know this isn't the best time, because you're busy, and I'm still weirdly emotional, but I think I have to say it. It's not because of today. I knew it a long time before that. But I feel like this is a moment when it can be said, because I don't want to make it weird for you, and after this, you can just go. So. Grantaire, I love you. I love you a lot. And it's okay if you don't... feel the same. But I had to tell you."

Suddenly, the air feels way too thick. Grantaire is finding it hard to breathe. He thinks his heart might be jumping out of his chest, but he's not sure, because his stomach is on fire, and that kind of obscures everything else. He lifts his hand, feeling like he's moving through lead, and sets it on Enjolras's shoulder.

"If you're just saying this because you feel like you have to repay me for being nice to you..."

"No, no!" Enjolras flutters his hands in distress. "Please, you have to believe me, I would never! You're so important to me, and yeah, I'm telling you now after you helped me through an awful experience, but that doesn't make it any less true! Please believe me, Grantaire!"

And just like that, Grantaire does. It's what he does, after all– he believes in Enjolras. It may be utterly confusing, but here it is. For all intents and purposes, Enjolras means what he's saying. It's as if all the colors in this world and the next have come to light this humble exam room, magical, miraculous, and somehow, achingly, brilliantly real. Grantaire feels like his blood is on fire.

"I believe you," he says, his voice a hoarse croak. "I don't know why you would feel that way, but I believe you."

"You do?" Enjolras still looks nervous. He's jittery, practically bouncing in place, combing his hands through his hair like it'll help hold him down. Grantaire realizes belatedly that he might not know.

"I do," he says. "And, I love you too. I've loved you for years."

The shining, radiant joy on Enjolras's face chases away the last of his doubts. He can’t remember the last time he saw the little blond so happy. It's true he's always been sunshine, but now he's the brightest, purest ray of light, glowing like the golden angel that he is. Grantaire wants to make a painting of him. In lieu of that, though, he steps up right against him, closing the distance between them.

"Can I kiss you?"

Enjolras's hands twine around him, as he tips his head up and breathes a soft _please_. His eyes are half-closed, his lips are parted, and there's a light flush on his cheeks. Grantaire doesn't think he's ever seen anyone so beautiful.

He puts one hand on Enjolras's waist, holding him close, and traces the curve of his lips with the tip of his thumb. Enjolras shudders, blushing all the way to the top of his freckled little nose. 

"Kiss me," he whispers. 

Who could say no to that? Grantaire bends down and touches their lips together, sweet and slow and soft as soft can be. It's the gentlest of kisses, chaste and delicate and more innocent than Grantaire thought was possible for him, but his legs feel weak, and his head is singing, and he thinks he needs to sit down. 

Enjolras tastes like strawberry lip balm and coffee. He's intoxicating in a way that even the best drinks could never be. When he sighs and presses closer, Grantaire thinks his mind actually goes blank for a moment, everything else pushed to the side and replaced with nothing but thoughts of him.

They break apart slowly, still holding onto each other. Enjolras can't seem to open his eyes for a second, so caught up is he in the force of their kiss, and Grantaire doesn't blame him. He, too, is reeling. He inclines his head so they can rest their foreheads together. 

"Okay?"

Enjolras lifts a shy hand to caress the stubble on Grantaire's jaw. His touch is like the swish of a butterfly's wing. 

"So okay," he says. "So definitely totally okay."

He's adorable. Grantaire wants to kiss him again. He leans in, but Enjolras gets there first. He captures Grantaire's mouth with a pleased little sound, obviously aiming for a much deeper kiss than their previous one. Grantaire wouldn't argue with this (it's what he's wanted practically from day one, after all), but he's very aware of their surroundings, and the fact that they can't be here forever, so after a second, he pulls away. 

"Sorry," he says, as Enjolras pouts up at him. "It's just, we probably should get out of here at some point, don't you think?"

Enjolras looks around as if remembering where he is. It takes him a second, but he nods.

"Okay, let's go. You wanted to see Joly, right? Can I come?"

"Of course." Grantaire smiles and kisses him on the forehead because that's a thing he can do now. "He'll be so happy to be the first to know about– "

Oh no. Why did he say that? Now he has to put a name to this thing between them, and he really doesn't know what it is. He knows what he wants, but he would never want to assume that it’s the same for Enjolras. What’s he supposed to do?

Fortunately, Enjolras takes the situation in hand. He's never been one to back away from a challenge, and he doesn’t start now.

"What are we?" he asks point-blank, bold now that he's convinced himself of what he's doing. 

Grantaire isn't so bold. He hedges. "What do you want to be?"

"I want to be with you." Enjolras smiles like he hasn't just dropped a heart-stopping bombshell, and continues. "If that means being your boyfriend, that's wonderful, but if you're not comfortable with that, then– wait." Hesitation suddenly clouds his face. "Do you want to be with me? I'm sorry, I shouldn't assume."

"I want to be with you," Grantaire assures him. It seems like an understatement, because he wants this more than anything, has wanted it for a long time now. Enjolras seems to appreciate it, though, because he smiles again, positively glowing. 

"Oh, good! I'm so happy."

Grantaire kisses him on the cheek. "Me too."

It's a sweet moment, but it doesn't last. Enjolras looks up, determined to have it all out right then and there. 

"So! What should I call you?"

Maybe he's a little bull-headed, but it's endearing. Grantaire loves him this way. 

"I would love to be your boyfriend," he says. 

Enjolras squeals in delight, then purses his lips and nods seriously, obviously trying to make up for his slip into giddiness by being as dignified as possible.

Grantaire isn't having any of it. He tugs Enjolras up and kisses him until he gasps, ruffling his hair with one hand, and clasping him close with the other. 

"So," he says when he pulls away to breathe, smiling down at Enjolras's darling little flushed face. Enjolras smiles back at him.

"Yes, boyfriend?"

Grantaire's heart melts all over again. He's never going to get tired of hearing those words. 

"Shall we go?" he asks. "I know one particular resident in the pediatric ward who would love to see us."

Enjolras steps out of Grantaire's arms, only to take his hand and squeeze it tightly. 

"Lead the way."

\--

When he hears the news, Joly screams so loudly that the other residents have to come check up on him to make sure he's not having a medical emergency. He treats them all to a confusing spiel about the new couple, then gives the new couple in question a five-minute speech about how beautiful and wonderful love is, and how happy he is that they're experiencing it firsthand. He finishes by giving them both an impassioned smack on the lips. 

Let it never be said that Joly isn't enthusiastic.

They offer to wait around for him until he gets off work so they can all go celebrate together, but he gives them a badly executed wink and tells them not to wait up, because there's a bed of roses waiting for them, and them only. Enjolras blushes, and Grantaire tells him that that's a flawed metaphor, but they're both too happy to keep the smiles off their faces all the way down the elevator to the parking lot.

Enjolras walks Grantaire to his car, and Grantaire is so perfectly blissful that he doesn't realize what's going on until they're both safely buckled in and starting off towards the freeway. Only then does he come out of his happy daze with a start.

"Enjolras, where's your car?"

"I don't have one. I don't drive, you know that!"

"No, but... How did you get to the hospital? Where's your ride? Am I kidnapping you?"

"Yes."

Grantaire is genuinely worried until he looks at Enjolras and sees the playful smile on his face. Clearly, he's not taking him anywhere he doesn't want to be. It's such a wonderful realization that he has to take one hand off the steering wheel so he can interlock it with Enjolras's while he drives. It would be a little dangerous to kiss him, but at least they can stay connected this way.

They drive for only a little while longer before Enjolras points to the next exit with all his usual fervor (which is quite a lot).

"Get off here!"

Grantaire is already obeying before he thinks to ask why. Enjolras beams at him.

"I want ice cream. I just had my blood drawn, so I need to have sugar."

"I don't think that's how it works," says Grantaire, amused. He's not arguing, though. Anytime Enjolras willingly agrees to eat something is cause for celebration. 

Enjolras must see that he's happy, because he grins even more broadly, and dares to lean over and plant a light kiss on his cheek. 

"I love you, Grantaire."

Grantaire thinks his heart is going to fall out. "We only started dating thirty minutes ago," he protests, though his voice has gone much higher than usual, and he has the uncomfortable feeling that he's blushing. 

Enjolras isn't discouraged. "I love you," he says again, with the cheekiest of smiles. "I said it before, and I'll say it now, too. I'm not conventional, you know."

"I know." Grantaire waits until he's pulled off the freeway before he says anything else, so he can look Enjolras in the eyes and give him his full attention. Then, "I love you too, dear heart."

They're sitting at the intersection grinning at each other in the soppiest way, unable to take their eyes away from each other, unable to stop smiling long enough to kiss. It's everything Grantaire has wanted, and more. 

 _This is it_ , he thinks. _This is love_.

It's exhilarating, and breathless, and indescribable in all the best ways. It's fire and electricity and magnetism, spring and winter, dusk and dawn. And most of all, more than anything, it's _Enjolras_ , and maybe that's all that really needs to be said, because Enjolras is every color in the spectrum mixed up into one beautiful perfectly imperfect angel, and he's everything good come true. Forget one painting– Grantaire wants to make a whole gallery. Before that, though, he wants to buy Enjolras the prettiest ice cream he can. Sweets for the sweet, after all.

"Okay sugar," he says. "Sugar time?"

Enjolras smiles, bright as sunshine. "Let's go."

They step out of the car and take each other's hands immediately, light and easy. Grantaire twirls Enjolras around in a pirouette and kisses him when he spins right up to him, and they're definitely a walking cliche, but Grantaire doesn't care. This is happiness, and it's beautiful no matter how many others have felt it before. 

It’s happiness, and it’s theirs for good.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://synchronysymphony.tumblr.com)


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